Alexander Molochnikov was a rising theater director in Moscow until his outspoken denunciation of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022 forced him to flee to the United States. In Seagull: True Story, now playing at the Public Theater, he reimagines his experiences in a meta-drama that draws on the Anton Chekhov classic The Seagull (the last play that he staged at Bolshoi’s Chamber Stage before his exile). Working from a script by Eli Rarey, Molochnikov invents a stand-in for himself named Kon (Eric Tabach), who like The Seagull‘s Constantine is an aspiring theatermaker seeking the attention and approval of his famous actress mother. Kon has cast his own mother-diva as Chekhov’s heroine, Arkadina (Suzanna Szadkowski), who’s horrified when her son defies the Russian regime and compounds his verbal offense by fleeing the country on the show’s opening night.
Kon decamps to New York, where he tries to mount a new version of The Seagull with his adopted tribe of Bushwick creatives, including his new girlfriend and actress/muse, Nico (Gus Birney). Like Chekhov’s Nina, she’s an aspiring actress who later dumps Kon for an older, more established man, here identified as a successful Russian emigré producer (Andrey Burkovskiy) who shows no interest in theater that isn’t blatantly commercial.
While struggling to adjust to the sensiblities of his New York collaborators, who are easily triggered by any mention of suicide and question telling a story by “some dead white male author,” Kon fields calls from his still-furious mother and inquires after an idealistic poet/actor, Anton (Elan Zafir), who was thrown into prison after delivering Kon’s own antiwar curtain speech. While the parallels between the four main Chekhov characters are clear — Burkovskiy frequently breaks the fourth wall to offer background for Seagull newbies — it’s harder to parse just how much Molochnikov and Rarey have drawn from real events about the extent of Putin’s crackdown on artists. (Molochnikov’s real mother is a journalist, not an actress; his father, a high school teacher. But did he, like Kon, really receive a second-hand threat of bodily harm from the notorious Wagner Group? And is there a real Anton who suffered a similar fate to the one in the show?)
When his mom turns up to see his lo-fi New York production, she echoes Chekhov’s Arkadina in her contempt, dismissing the project as “pretentious, self-indulgent garbage.” That’s harsh, and yet Molochnikov does get bogged down in the meta-ness of his story, particularly in an overlong second act that spends far too long on Kon’s personal struggles to mount his vision. While he seems to be open to collaboration and improvisation, he’s unwilling to fully cede his directorial authority. (His directing style gets him into trouble with Russian authorities, as when he allows male cast members to cross-dress in a provocative rejection of bans on LGBTQ representation.)
Where Molochnikov and his onstage avatar succeed is in their playful, avant-garde approach to making stage pictures. Clear plastic tarps are redeployed as flags and bed sheets, the towers of Red Square come to life and dance in a pot brownie-induced hallucination, and a Luxo-style desk lamp becomes the headlights to a subway train where a dejected Kon will contemplate suicide just as Chekhov’s hero does. In one memorable scene, five cast members re-create Kon’s nightmare version of the much-memed image of a shirtless Vladimir Putin (Burkovskiy) on horseback, held aloft by four actors (one wearing an equine mask) while an actress shakes her long mane of hair behind them like a bushy tail. (Kristina K. designed the costumes; Alexander Shishkin’s sets are lit by Brian H. Scott and Sam Saliba.)
One drawback of this modern interpretation of The Seagull is the decision to center the new show entirely on Constantine/Kon, which gives short shrift to Chekhov’s other main protagonists (who here receive much sketchier treatment). But Molochnikov is less interested in grappling with a classic than using it as a proxy for the threat to artistic expression by institutional censorship. In that regard, Seagull: True Story can pack a powerful punch — perhaps never more so than when Anton comments as he’s dragged off to prison, “Something like THAT could never happen in America, right?” It’s a good question, well timed for an era when the Trump administration has publicly targeted artists and institutions it loathes. This show reminds us that freedom, like love, must be nurtured and defended on a daily basis lest it fall into disuse — or worse, into the hands of a tyrant who would quash it. ★★★☆☆
SEAGULL: TRUE STORY
Public Theater, Off Broadway
Running time: 2 hours, 20 minutes (with one intermission)
Tickets on sale through April 26 for $109